Sure as Hell
by Scarabbug
Summary: The children had come back from war. Sure as hell, they wouldn’t be the same. Four ficlets put together in one fic. Set during Young Justice’s return to earth after the “Our Worlds At War” storyline. Contains some swearing.


* * *

Sure as Hell. 

He wondered, briefly, why it was so quiet, but had not been prepared for more than the most obvious answer. The children had come back from war. Naturally, they wouldn't be themselves.

Still…

It takes him just half a second to wind down his power and open the door. The next fourteen he dedicates to simply _observing _them. Attempting to be certain they're really there.

His vision has fooled him many times before. He has seen people die –women and children and villains and all, and then thought he saw them again afterwards, walking around as if nothing had happened.

It's not something he often confesses to, much less actually experiences. He's barely human enough for such delusions. Metal frames were not designed for fantasy. They were barely designed for emotional at all.

But now, with whatever semblance of feelings he has, he prays this isn't one of those times.

'Tornado?'

Robin.

'We… we made it back…'

Another half a second, while counts their numbers. Two, three, four… one of them insubstantial and the only one not littered with dirt, because that kind of stuff simply doesn't cling to Secret. Superboy has never looked so dumbfounded and Wondergirl has never looked so relieved and Robin has never seemed such a _boy and _Empress... he wodners if he has ever seen her quite so _tired_…

And Cissie is there. She who should not in actuality be amongst them and is anyway because she couldn't simply stand and watch and…

'…We _actually_ made it back.'

…And then he finishes counting them and realises he's one number short. The hopeful feeling in his artificial system flickers.

There are only six, there should be…

No Impulse.

The silence was suddenly, alarmingly explained.

* * *

"_War ish hell."_

What a fucking _stupid_ joke.

He's never going to laugh at things like that anymore. He knows now, why soldiers at war write letters, pretending everything is all okay and cracking stupid jokes like that about things that should be too true to be funny. They do it because it's all they can do. Because it's the only way they can still feel alive. Because laughing is living, right? Joking proves that you haven't given up.

Superboy doesn't want to laugh again – period. He's never going to stay up after the watershed, and he's never going to Watch Wendy the Werewolf Slayer, because stakes are just not funny anymore. He doesn't want to think about werewolves burning. He doesn't want to think about _anything_ burning, he…

Idiot. He's such an _idiot_.

Robin hasn't said "I told you so", yet. Superboy is waiting for it, even though it'll probably never come. It won't, because Robin simply doesn't care anymore and no one trusts him and…

And Superboy doesn't know how to fix it. He doesn't know how to take it all back. He doesn't know how to change the past so he didn't have to be such a fucking i tough guy /i and didn't have to get his best friend killed.

Bart had been in the middle of it. Bart was _always_ (usually, actuallyhe often sided with Kon) in the middle, bouncing back and fourth between them like some kind of hyper ping pong ball (he's sure as _frag_ not bouncing _now_.) Impulse had gone with Superboy because he trusted him more than Robin.

Superboy wasn't _worth_ that trust. Superboy had killed him, and Bart had watched it happen.

How many people had seen themselves die?

He can see Red Tornado coming closer, counting each of them in his head. And Superboy could already tell him he's going to be one person short, but he doesn't. Because he doesn't want to talk anymore than he does laugh, right now. So he waits until Tornado asks, and then he moves away from the doorway and lets him inside. He keeps his head down.

Somehow, Cassie is clutching his hand. For the first time ever, it doesn't make a difference. For the first time ever she can't make him feel better just by existing. She isn't there. He's fairly sure he's barely there himself.

"_Was ish hell_."

It's not a joke anymore.

* * *

It's the last time she'll ever set foot in a space jet. 

It's the last time she'll ever set foot in their headquarters, too. She used to think that she'd come back to visit. Hang out with Suzie and mess with Cassie's hair and talk about school and boys and _normal_ stuff.

She hadn't expected to go to war with them.

She hadn't expected them to split apart with Superboy and Robin torn at the seams. She hadn't expected all the anger and rage and fear and damage. She hadn't expected to be locked inside some mind control device and have her nightmares spread before her like a book. She hadn't expected to watch Impulse (no. Just a carbon copy of him. She has to keep reminding herself of that) dying as fireballs ripped him to shreds or to sit there with his head in her hands and hoping to God he'd be able to snap out of it when everyone kenw he wasn't going to. She hasn't expected Superboy to panic or Wondergirl to cry or Robin to just not even be there until it was almost too late. She hadn't expected to go to Apokalipse.

And she sure as hell hadn't expected to come back.

The normal things aren't going to happen anymore. At least, not the way Cissie always imagined them. Not with Young Justice. Not with these friends.

* * *

The phone rings twice and nobody answers. So she clutches the handle as tight as her super strength will allow her to without shattering it, and waits for it to ring again. She sees her nails are still dirty and there are bruises where she's never had them before. It's almost scary, but she's seen worse._'Pick up the phone pick up the phone...'_

Three rings. Four. She remembers the nightmares –the afterglow of fire and thunder and the corpses of everyone she cared about. All so _real_ and right in front of her eyes. Four rings becomes five. Five becomes six.

Maybe mom already thinks she's dead and can't bring herself to answer the phone.

Six to seven, seven to eight. Nine, ten, eleven.

'..._Please pick up_.'

When she was younger, Cassie never had nightmares. Not really bad ones, anyway. her dreams were never too frightening – just weird. Dreams where she flew with wings on her feet and big, bearded faces tried to knock her from the sky and bury her alive in her mother's latest archaeology pits and…

Twelve rings, thirteen… fourteen... (isn't there some kind of limit to how many times this darn thing can ring?)

Okay so maybe her dreams _were_ nightmares. But that was okay, because mom's room was always there and all Cassie ever had to do was sneak in there and crawl under the covers and mom would never send her back. Not even when she was ten years old. Not that Cassie did that often when she was ten years old. No way.

But Mom's always there, anyway. Always.

_'Pick up the phone pick up the phone pick up the phone…'_

The phone stops ringing.

It _clicks_. It's live and there's a voice at the other end waiting for her. But the voice isn't like her mom's voice at all – it's afraid and tense and talking to itself and…

_'Jesus, I leave the phone for five damn_ minutes, _I… Hello? This… this is— this is the Sandsmark residence.' _

Cassie's mouth opens but no sound comes out. The air is stuck between her throat and her stomach, like if she speaks she'll start to scream.

_'…Cassandra? Cassie, is that you?'_

Her mom is alive.

Of course she's alive. The whole _world_ is crying right now, but the world's still _there a_nd so is mom. She's been there just about forever, of course, waiting for Cassie to make this call.

_'Listen if this is some kind of prank call I... I'm just… just answer me, please.'_

She's clutching the receiver too tightly. The plastic's creaking. She wants to wish for the ringing again. She wants to talk and tell her mother everything. About the nightmares and dreams and the mine fields on other worlds. About Apokalipse and battles in space that weren't anything like in the movies, and Robin and Kon at each others throats and Bart dying and world's come apart. She wants to tell her how Batman brought them back and Red Tornado found them, when nobody else was looking anymore.

She wants to cry, even though she can't. And…

…She doesn't feel like a hero. When did she last?

'_God, Cassie, if that's you, say something! Please, sweetheart, please_.'

Cassie doesn't know what her mother would have done if it hadn't been her on the end of the line.

But then, it doesn't matter. Because it _is_.

The nightmares will always be nothing more than that. Just the bad dreams she's going to have maybe every night for the rest of her life.

'…Mommy?'

* * *


End file.
